Whispers in the Dark
by Elinde
Summary: As if things weren't tense enough with a stream of Dwarves passing through Mirkwood, when a traveller reappears in Thranduil's halls things are set to get... complicated.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: all recognisable characters, places etc belong to Tolkien and his estate. The others belong to me. **

A/N: This fanfic's already finished (amazing, I know; I was snowed in for most of last weekend when I was writing this) so I'll be posting it weekly, either late on Sunday evening or early-ish Monday morning (according to my time, GMT!) to kick Monday blues for a short while at least :¬ ) Enjoy!

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><p>The meeting was drawing to a close, finally. Lords and ladies drooped in their seats and Legolas sat with elbow on table and chin in hand, looking at the speaker, currently chief advisor Eruwest, and willing her to hurry up and finish. Even her son was making eyes at her to get on with it. She glared at him in return; she was already summarising as much as she could.<p>

Thranduil had the opposite pose to his son; he sat well back in his chair and his eyes, instead of half asleep, were alert. Though he too was only half listening to what Eruwest was saying. His gaze was darting around the circle, flicking from one Elf to another almost anxiously. His fingers were laced together in his lap, and the nail of his top thumb was digging into the skin of the thumb below it. It was either that or have them strumming the arms of his chair, or something else that would be noticed. But he noticed when his son's chin slipped off his palm next to him, and kicked Legolas under the table. Legolas jolted and earned disapproving glances from the equally bored court. He returned his attention to Eruwest just as she finished talking:

"…and thus we have no need to worry until well into the summer months."

"Hannon le, Eruwest," Thranduil said, smiling. Eruwest bobbed to him and smiled quickly at her companions. Thranduil looked round the circle of now hopeful faces. If that was the last item they may have the luxury of moving very soon. "One more thing before we leave," he could see the annoyance in his lords and ladies but he ignored it, "as we all know the Dwarves will be passing through these next few days. Is everything arranged for them?"

"Yes, sire," Mithras said from a few places to Thranduil's left, "wardens are stationed up to the path to guide them onto it. I don't think any should go astray but we are ready for any who do, and also there are some provisions for the dwarves should they run out. I see no reason why there should be any detrimental hold ups."

"Good," Thranduil replied, "I want them out of our realm as quickly as possible. Is there any reason for them to come into the halls?"

"None, Aranhîr."

"Even better." He clapped and rose, "I think that is all. Lords. Ladies."

oOo

"Must you show me up so much, Rîneglan?" Eruwest asked of her son as they, Thranduil, Legolas and Mithras made their way away from the conference hall.

"Personally I thought I was being very subtle about it," Rîneglan replied, grinning, "and it made you speed up, didn't it?"

"That's not the point," his mother huffed, "you would never have seen such behaviour in Thingol's court."

"How many times did you attend?" Thranduil asked, though his expression remained blank and his gaze fixed on the far distance.

"Not many," Eruwest admitted, grudgingly, "but-"

"I think other things are more important than impeccable behaviour during meetings," Thranduil continued, "Things like letting the Dwarves through without having to mix with them anymore than is necessary."

"You could order them to go around the forest if you wished, sire," Rîneglan suggested.

"I could but that would create unnecessary animosity. They're just going to toy fairs." He paused, then half turned to them both, "You are sure that the Dwarves aren't planning anything, aren't you?"

"Of course," Eruwest spluttered, "Why would they be?"

"They're Dwarves; why _wouldn't _they be?"

"He has a point," Rîneglan said. His remark earned him an intense look from his king and a rebuking one from his mother.

"They shan't do anything, Thranduil," Eruwest reassured him, "They have no reason to and besides they'll be too far away from us." She watched him for a moment before asking, "Are you alright?"

"So being cautious is unnatural now, is it?"

"No… no; of course not."

Half a step behind them, a good natured argument had begun between Legolas and Mithras.

"There really is no need for you to carry my papers, young master," Mithras insisted, though Legolas was equally persistent,

"It would be no trouble, I assure you."

Eruwest and Rîneglan turned round. Mithras had a huge sheaf of parchment under one arm, and Rîneglan agreed that it seemed like a lot to be carried by one hand.

"I am fine!" Mithras insisted, elbowing the prince out of his way. "I am perfectly able to carry things."

"But-"

"But nothing! My right hand still works, does it not?"

At this point the other three Elves let their gazes drop to Mithras' paralysed and now rather withered left hand. Mithras took this opportunity to push past them and fall into step with the king.

"They're at it again," he told his old friend.

"I know," Thranduil replied, "I have ears. And if they really aren't going to relent may I suggest _letting_ Legolas carry them for you."

"Sire?"

"You heard," Thranduil snapped. But looking ahead again he suddenly lost interest. Someone in the crowd of the main halls had caught his eye. "I'll catch you up later," he said before pushing through the throng. Mithras blinked and then succumbed to Legolas' pleading.

"Come," the prince said once he'd balanced the documents, "let's see if Galion will give us a post meeting drink."

oOo

Thranduil met up with the figure he'd seen at the doors and they made the journey down the steps, over the bridge and into the forest in silence. Thranduil didn't mind though. His wandering companion looked the same as ever he did, in his dark, tattered tunic and hoes and travel stained cloak and boots. Once they were some way away from the other Elves, however, the figure took down his hood, turned round and embraced Thranduil,

"How long has it been? Decades?"

"It may even be centuries," Thranduil replied.

"Really?" The figure pulled back and regarded his friend, his grey eyes critical, "Lore how I lose track of time."

"No matter," Thranduil said, waving it away with his hand and also giving his friend the once over. The Noldo had cut his hair much shorter since their last meeting; it now hung lank round his face down to his shoulders. His face was equally filthy; the Elf hadn't washed in a very long time. He looked quite the ranger he'd been posing as. "How are things?"

"Can't complain." A smile, "I mean things aren't perfect but how can they be when one has nowhere to go?"

"My halls are always open to you," Thranduil said hurriedly. He'd love for Nenros to live here in Mirkwood. But Nenros shook his head,

"It's fine, travelling and keeping a low profile are part of my job after all. And I can't stay long, but I've found something out, something monumental."

Thranduil nodded. It always amazed him what lengths Nenros had gone to to fake his own death, and how well he'd kept everyone fooled. Nenros had once told him that Thranduil was the only person who knew it was a hoax.

"Is that why you're here?"

Nenros bit a chapped lip and dragged dirty fingers through his hair, "Mae; I have some bad news for you." He sat down on the buttress roots of a beech tree and motioned for Thranduil to sit close by him.

"As you know I've been following the few remaining Noldor who followed Fëanor across from Aman."

Thranduil nodded.

"Well," Nenros continued, "our suspicions have proved correct; they're after the Silmaril Eärendil took over the Sea. I don't know how they plan to get it so please don't ask me but this is their plan."

"What's that got to do with my people?"

"They think you've found a way to get it."

"But it's a star!"

Nenros shrugged, "That's what they think; I never said it made sense. But they're on their way here. Their advanced guard has already entered your realm. I doubt they'll strike soon though, they're more likely to send a mole into your halls first."

Thranduil's eyes widened, "The Dwarves! They're using the Dwarves."

"It's possible," Nenros said, matter-of-factly, "though I never heard them say that specifically."

"No, it all makes sense. The Dwarves and the Noldor have always been close!" Fear entered his face, "I must stop them!"

"That would be stupid," Nenros disagreed, "if they aren't working for the Noldor it would anger them, and if they are it would let the Noldor know we're onto them. Either way you'd do better to hold out until I can gather more information."

"How long will that take?"

Nenros shrugged, "I can't say; I'm sorry."

"Well what am I supposed to do?" Thranduil demanded.

"Make sure they can't find anything out. Keep them away from your halls and away from your people as well if you can."

Thranduil nodded and Nenros rose to go, but before he could Thranduil said, "People think I'm lying about you."

Nenros turned round. "Have you been telling people about me?" He asked, his voice slow and full of menace.

"Only two," Thranduil replied, nervously, "Galion and Míriel."

"Well, let it be a lesson to you," Nenros said, warningly, "and be thankful that they disbelieved you. If anyone finds out about me I really will be dead this time." Thranduil still looked unsure, so Nenros sighed and said, "Look; they think me dead. I put a lot of effort into making people think that, and making sure no one finds out otherwise. So of course they're going to think you are mistaken when you say to them that you've seen me." His frown left and he smiled, "And who knows what you see best? You or them? Do you disbelieve your eyes, your ears, your sense of touch?"

Thranduil shook his head: "No. But why have you been gone so long? Why didn't you contact me?"

"There was nothing to tell you, and I can't come here when I have no reason to. Every time I come here I run a very high risk of being found out, and if the Noldor find out that I'm tailing them they will try to kill me, and they will succeed. Do you see?"

Thranduil nodded.

"I should be back soon this time, though," Nenros continued, "with more information. In the meantime, tell no one anything. If you do thousands of lives could be at stake, and ours most certainly."

oOo

"So I said to him: 'Maedhros could have beaten you one handed' but he didn't get it."

Eruwest, Legolas and Galion all laughed at Rîneglan's friend's ignorance and Mithras rolled his eyes, refusing to laugh at jokes of that nature. Cútur, the chief of the guard who had been keeping Galion company when the others arrived, looked blank; "But surely that's obvious. He only had one hand."

"Yes," Galion relied, hitting the table with his hand, "that's what makes the joke funny."

"But," Cútur said, still looking confused, "that's not a joke; it's just a statement of fact."

"You know the expression: 'they could beat you one handed'?" Legolas pressed.

"Of course."

"Well there are two meanings which could be applied; the metaphorical one and the actual one."

"Oh leave it, Legolas. Jokes are never amusing if you have to explain them," Eruwest said.

"But I don't understand!" Cútur complained.

But that particular conversation was stopped by the sound of boots on the steps down to the wine cellar, and presently by the appearance of Thranduil. Galion poured him a drink but Thranduil didn't take it, so Galion put it on the table.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Eruwest asked. Thranduil shot her a glance. Oh, how much he wanted to tell her that Nenros was alive and well but he couldn't. He wondered if Nenros even knew Eruwest was here. Maybe he did. Maybe she was even the reason he stayed away; he'd lost her so many times already. She was now smiling uncertainly at the king, "What's that look for?"

Thranduil blinked, "Sorry, just thinking." His gaze flicked to Galion, "I asked Palandir to visit while the dwarves pass through."

"An excellent plan, meldir," Galion answered. He knew how unsettled Thranduil was about letting Dwarves through his realm, and Palandir was one of those with a knack for calming the king down.

"He should be arriving within the next few days; make sure all is ready for him."

"Where did you go?" Rîneglan asked.

"I needed some air after being in the same room for hours," Thranduil replied, smiling. Then he spoke to Galion again, "Do you know where Lianna is?"

"In the palace somewhere," Galion replied, "I think she's helping direct the Dwarves when they come tomorrow."

Thranduil nodded, "At least there's someone to keep them in check."

"Am I doing anything tomorrow?" Legolas asked.

"Not where the Dwarves are concerned, no," Thranduil snapped, "In fact you will stay well away from them."

"I don't see why I shouldn't help Lianna."

"If you don't give me your word you'll be doing paperwork inside until they've all passed through!"

"Alright, Adar; you have my word."

Thranduil looked at him long and critically, before turning to go.

"You aren't staying?" Galion asked, surprised.

"I have things to do."

"But it's getting late-"

"I have things to do!"

Galion raised his eyebrows as the sound of Thranduil's footsteps faded away. "I'll check on him in a few hours."

A few hours later found the king in his study pouring over a large map of Mirkwood rolled out on the desk, eyes darting from one part to another and fingers tracing arbitrary paths through the trees. Candles burned low in their holders and the fire glowed in its ashes. Galion's gaze took in the large pile of firewood beside the grate. Untouched. Galion sighed and weaved his way through the ever present sea of papers to the windows and onto the balcony.

"Maybe you should stop for a moment, Thranduil?" He suggested. He heard a snort from behind him. "Come and look at the stars; they're really bright tonight."

Thranduil looked up in annoyance. Why couldn't Galion leave him alone tonight? Or else be quiet? How was he supposed to pre-empt the Noldor if he kept being interrupted? Then he looked beyond Galion and saw, glinting brighter than all the other stars, the star that had once been a Silmaril. And there was Galion looking at it not knowing that it could spell the doom of the Greenwood Elves. He couldn't bear it. But he had to.

Then he realised something. Just because Galion didn't know about the Noldor didn't mean he was immune from them. Thranduil launched himself across the room, grabbed Galion roughly round the wrist and dragged him back into the room. Then he pulled the doors to and locked them.

"What on earth are you doing?" Galion asked indignantly as Thranduil drew the curtains and hurriedly rolled the map up.

"I can't tell you."

"I think someone's a little over-tired," Galion chided gently.

"No," Thranduil replied, his tone almost whiny, "I need to solve this." With that he took out the map he'd just packed away and unrolled it on the table again. "I've almost cracked it."

"Come on, meldir," Galion said in a firmer tone, "it's very late now and it's pitch dark. These candles will go out in a short while."

"Then I'll light some new ones," Thranduil said, taking the required number out of the desk drawer, lighting them using the already lit candles. Then he began throwing the old ones onto the grate with their wicks still burning. Galion watched the flames sputter in the ash and go out. He made a note to get them out of the grate first thing in the morning; even with Beorn and his hives only on the other side of the forest good beeswax was expensive.

Over the short distance back to his desk, Thranduil staggered slightly through tiredness. Galion was about to say something when one of the candlesticks began to rock seemingly of its own accord – though it had actually been joggled by a loose floorboard as the king passed. It rocked on its base first backwards, then forwards, for a while. Thranduil, oblivious, was back at his desk by the time it decided to fall. Onto the sea of papers.

Even as Thranduil saw the flames and stifled his own scream, Galion righted the candlestick and scooped the burning papers into the grate, where they withered and folded in on themselves without destroying the whole room. He looked up at Thranduil, expecting the usual slight nod of thanks for such a minor favour, but instead he saw his king white faced, one hand still clapped to his mouth and the other gripping the desk behind him as tightly as possible.

Galion realised he had no explanation for what had just happened either. He rose and approached his terrified friend, hushing and soothing him and making to pull Thranduil into his embrace. But before he could Thranduil pushed him away and swept across to the other side of the room, only lowering his hand from his mouth when he was in the far corner.

"They've found me already."

"Who have?" Galion whispered.

"And they're trying to kill me." He turned to Galion, "Don't you see? They used their magic to topple the candlestick."

Again Thranduil's conviction made a convincing argument. Galion nodded, "I suppose magic is possible."

"I can't stop them," Thranduil continued, "They'll only stop when they have what they want. And I don't have it. I can't get it. They're mad; you can't get things from the heavens."

"Thranduil?" Galion's brow furrowed. Thranduil was known to say strange things when exhausted, which he evidently was now.

"They'll kill everyone. Just like before. What can I do? I'm not as powerful as the kings of old, I stand no chance!"

"Thranduil, stop this." Galion put out the candles and advanced on his friend. Thranduil looked at him in the dark as though seeing him for the first time. He went as white as a sheet and started shaking,

"I shouldn't have said that."

"Come on," Galion repeated but as his hand touched Thranduil shoulder Thranduil began weeping.

"What if they heard? What if they know everything?" He pulled away, back to the map, and when Galion tried to stop him he repeated, "I have to finish this!" over and over again. Eventually, in exasperation, Galion put an arm around his friend's waist and pulled him off his feet. Thranduil screamed in indignation and fear, so Galion put a hand over his mouth,

"You are too tired to think. If you won't go to bed willingly then Eru help me I'll drag you there!"

With that he half carried, half dragged the Sinda out of his office and along the corridor, with Thranduil writhing and screaming and even kicking in his arms. When none of these worked his tongue found the fleshy base of Galion's thumb and he bit down on it hard. Galion cried out, more in surprise than pain, but didn't let go and eventually threw the king into his rooms, locking the door behind him. He then went round the room locking the doors to the balcony and taking the keys out from Thranduil's various hiding places – he knew them all. Then he turned to the king who now sat on the edge of the bed, head in hands.

"I'm locking you in so you actually go to sleep," he explained, "I'll be back in the early morning." He stopped and watched Thranduil, "Are you alright?"

Still with his head in his hands, Thranduil nodded and mumbled, "Just over tired."

Galion pursed his lips, "I keep saying those long council meetings always end in tears but does anyone ever listen?" Then he left and though he said 'good night' at the door he got no further reply.

Thranduil sat on the bed, shaking and weeping silently. He felt even worse for not being able to tell anyone, but how could he have told Galion that he'd as good as killed someone everyone else thought was already dead?


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, Galion unlocked an irate king.

"If you were anyone else," warned an already dressed Thranduil, who stormed past his butler as soon as the door was opened, "you would be packing your bags and walking off into oblivion! What right do you claim to have to do such a thing to your king?" Galion hurriedly unlocked the doors onto the balcony before running after his king.

"I love you as a brother," he replied as he followed Thranduil along the corridor towards his office, "which gives me not just the right but the obligation to look after you."

Thranduil opened the door to his office before turning to Galion: "I don't need looking after." Then he slammed the door in his friend's face. Galion sighed and leant against the doorframe and rested his fingers on the handle.

"Thranduil?"

There was a small click as the key turned in the lock. Galion tested the handle but the door didn't open.

"Thranduil, talk to me!" No answer. "Oh, please, don't sulk like this!" Still no answer. Anger suddenly welled up inside him and he struck the door with his fist: "Dammit, Sinda; why must you throw everything I do for you back in my face?

"'I don't need looking after'," Galion muttered as he gave up and made his way downstairs, "He doesn't realise just how poisoned his tongue is."

Thranduil heard Galion through the door but didn't pay any attention. He was still seething and, despite what Galion thought, hadn't slept at all well. Just the knowledge that he couldn't get out if he needed to had kept him awake. He returned to his map but gradually became aware of two eyes watching him. He raised his head and saw a seated figure half shrouded in shadows. Its ankle was resting on its other knee and its chin was on its hand.

"You're late," Nenros said, "I was beginning to wonder if you would ever reappear."

"What are you doing here?" Thranduil asked, curbing his anger. It wasn't Nenros' fault that Galion had overstepped the mark.

Nenros put both feet on the floor and sat up straighter. His clear gaze fell on the map and he put two and two together, "Let me save you a lot of trouble; the Noldor are close now. Far closer than I anticipated."

Thranduil blinked; "Man?"

"I tracked them yesterday; they're just on the other side of the river. They're looking for an alternative way across apart from the bridge." There was a pause in which Nenros wrinkled his nose, "I got too close and only just got away. They know about me and quite possibly that I've been talking to you. They'll strike much quicker now than before and they are already organised; I'm sorry."

"How have they got so close?" Thranduil asked, shocked into near silence.

Nenros shrugged, "They are crafty, and they are Elves. I don't think Elves are on your wardens' watch list."

"_Everything_ is on their watch list!" Thranduil snapped. He moved round the desk, deep in thought, then regarded Nenros from under his eyelids, "No matter. There is no other crossing than the bridge."

"But these are Noldor; Noldor have a knack for getting across water." Nenros looked up at the Sinda apologetically; "I'm so sorry. I've failed you."

Thranduil didn't reply immediately, but when he did his tone was quiet and sad, "No, meldir, they were coming anyway. At least this way I have some warning."

Nenros half nodded, half bowed his head.

"We will have to be cautious, though," Thranduil continued, "I shall put more guards on the bridge. No foreigner crosses for any reason less than a life or death situation."

"What about me?" Nenros asked quickly, standing up as he spoke. Thranduil looked at him; he bore no devices and his colours belonged to no one. He was a true wanderer.

"They shan't stop you if you think you're one of us. Come," Thranduil said, taking Nenros' arm, "I'll lend you a tunic."

In the corridor they were met by a young maid carrying laundry.

"Your Majesty," she bobbed. "the cooks were wondering if you were eating this morning?"

Thranduil watched her for a while before replying, "No; eating takes too much time."

The maid curtseyed again and carried on her way. Thranduil watched as she disappeared before dragging Nenros into his room.

"The problem is you're too tall," Thranduil half chided, half laughed as he held another tunic up against Nenros and threw it onto the pile when it didn't fit, "And too fat."

Nenros smirked and leant against the dresser, "Or you're too thin, which I find more likely." He watched as the Sinda began an expedition to the back of his wardrobe. "You should eat something," he said, "we can discuss our plans while you eat."

"No!" Thranduil shouted, coming out of the wardrobe and pointing a long, spidery finger at the traveller, "No, I shan't let you say that?"

Nenros was taken aback, "Why not?"

"Because that's what everyone else says!" Thranduil yelled, scrunching the clothes he held up in his clenching hand.

"Maybe you should listen to them, then," Nenros suggested, calmly.

Thranduil hurled the clothes onto the floor at his feet and screamed. "Stop this! You don't say things like that. They do but you _don't_; you're _different._"

"You can't tell me what I do and do not think," Nenros replied, sternly. "Look at me, Sinda!"

Thranduil raised miserable eyes to him. "You don't say things like that," he whispered.

Any reply Nenros might have made was cut short by a knock at the door and the reappearance of Galion. As the butler came in, Nenros flicked his hood over his head and stood to one side. Galion looked over the scene, at the pile of clothes and Thranduil's irked expression.

"Everything alright up here, sire?"

"Everything's fine," Thranduil replied, "but you only call me 'sire' in private when you bring bad news."

Galion winced, "Well it's not bad per se, but Mithras tells me it goes against your wishes." Thranduil raised an eyebrow. "Some of the Dwarves had a serious problem so the lords invited them into the halls."

The slightest whine escaped Nenros' throat and Thranduil looked aghast. "They dare to make such a decision for me?"

"There was no time to explain the situation to you, my lord. One of the first party has been seriously injured by something in the forest."

"A life or death situation; how convenient," Nenros muttered into his hood.

"Legolas and Rîneglan are shadowing them," Galion added. Thranduil remained motionless for a while, before striding over to Galion and smashing him across the face.

"What did you do that for?" Nenros shrieked as Thranduil marched out of the room on the way downstairs. The Sinda was walking so quickly that the Noldo had to jog to keep up. Galion followed behind. He'd staggered at the impact and was now nursing a bleeding nose and bruised cheek, but most of all he was confused. Not even upset; just confused.

"Dranduil, dyou are nod dyourdelf!" He called after his panicking king. When he got no reply, he stopped short and decided that he couldn't be bothered trying to talk to the Sina, so he went to sort out his broken nose instead.

Nenros still loped beside Thranduil as the pair clattered down flight after flight of stairs. "You need to calm yourself, meldir," he insisted, "The Dwarves will smell any fear on you like hunting dogs smell the hind."

"Stay with me," Thranduil asked.

"I can't, meldir; your friend said Rîneglan will be there and I cannot bear to see him again."

"What do I say?"

"What would you say under normal circumstances?"

But Thranduil's mind had gone blank. And when Nenros peeled off and returned to the upper levels the king felt fear in the pit of his stomach. He hid it though, because he could see the Dwarves now. There we five of them, all standing round the foot of the stairs, bags at their feet and caps in hands. When they saw him approach they bowed so deeply that their long beards touched the floor. Thranduil watched them icily; he didn't trust them an inch. He wished Palandir were already here, but he wasn't so Thranduil would have to do this on his own.

"I take it your companion has already been taken to the Healers," he said, surprised at how level his tone was.

"Yes, O king, and we are indebted to you for your kindness towards him."

Thranduil's smile disguised gritted teeth. 'O king'. Why did Dwarves insist on addressing people in that manner? It set his hair on edge.

"Do you plan to stay with your companion?" He asked.

"Ideally we would," the Dwarf said, being careful to maintain the upmost respect, "but we staggered our parties so as not to cause hold ups. We can't stay here more than a day without causing problems."

"So?" Thranduil pressed.

"So we plan to leave early tomorrow."

Thranduil forced his smile again, "So be it. Rest now and then take all the supplies you need in the morning. Your companion is safe with us."

The Dwarves bowed again and took their leave, and after a while Thranduil returned to his rooms.

"Nenros?" He called, checking first in the study and then in his living rooms, and finally in his chamber. But there was no sign of the other. He stepped onto the balcony and gazed down at the trees far below. This floor was half way up the large hill the palace was built under, so the trees at the hill's foot were a long way down. Puzzled, he retreated inside and there he found a letter written in the Beleriand mode of Tengwar.

_Following a lead, N_

The king snorted. Trust him to up and leave when most needed! Though he couldn't feel any true animosity towards him; he supposed Nenros was used now to going where life took him and the old Noldo probably didn't realise how disconcerting it was to suddenly find someone gone.

The sun warmed his back, though he still felt chill inside. The knowledge that there were Dwarves in the same place as him unnerved him. Especially as they were Dwarves possibly spying for the Noldor. _Probably_ spying for the Noldor. How could he stop them coming up here? There was no way. Only respect prevented the lower orders from coming up here and there was no suggestion which of the small staircases on the floors below led here and which led simply to store rooms. It was part of the palace design; put locks on doors and invaders will instantly try to open them. Now Nenros was gone, Thranduil found himself at a loss of what to do. Or rather there were plenty of things he _should _be doing, but none of them really appealed.

oOo

Galion looked up, half pleasantly surprised, half suspicious, when Thranduil floated over to him. He was perched on the side of one of the beds, trying to get used to the constant smell and feel of dried blood in his nose. Thranduil stopped a few feet away from him and winced apologetically,

"Are you alright?"

Galion huffed and gestured to the strip of bark now across the bridge of his nose which held it in place, "Perfectly find, considering." He tapped the mattress beside him, "Sit."

Thranduil gathered his robes around him and sat. "I'm…" he began, then faltered. He looked at Galion, who was watching him in turn with mild amusement. He then looked at what little of his boots he could see from under his hems. "Why do you put up with me?" He asked.

"Because I'd lose my job if I didn't," Galion joked.

Thranduil, usually so perceptive of emotions, missed the joke. He looked up at Galion nervously, "Is that the real reason?"

"Of course not. I mean I'm sure I _would_ if I didn't, but no, that isn't why I 'put up' with you."

"Why, then?"

"Because you're my friend. Yes you do stupid things sometimes, but everyone does and true friends don't abandon each other because of one fight."

"I'm sorry for what I did…"

Galion waved the apology away, "No harm done."

Thranduil looked at him, unsure if he was serious or taking the Mick. "I broke your nose," he said, slowly.

"_Really?_" Galion asked, mimicking Thranduil's frequent sarcasm, "I hadn't noticed."

Thranduil allowed himself to smile at that, and Galion's own grin broadened as he saw Thranduil's eyes sparkle.

"Come, gwador," he said, getting up and taking Thranduil's arm, "let's go somewhere else. This place reeks of fear." Thranduil agreed and allowed himself to be led first to the kitchens for picnic supplies and then out into the gardens.

The gardens, a recent addition to the palace at only a few centuries old, were a little way away from the palace because of the marsh around the hill. Though they were built on a patch of drained marsh, Thranduil had wanted to keep the wetland around the palace as a line of defence so getting to the gardens required some effort. A wooden walkway connected the two, just wide enough for two thin Elves like Thranduil and Galion to walk abreast.

Few people came here, few people knew about it, and Galion hoped that here Thranduil might explain something to him. But Galion was now having second thoughts as to the success of his plan, for Thranduil kept looking behind him as though he thought someone was following them. When they reached the gardens proper, Thranduil loosed his arm from the crook of Galion's, took his companion's hand an dragged him off the main path into the narrow, winding ways behind the backs of the boarders. Eventually they immerged at the place that Galion was aiming for anyway; a large yet plain fountain near the middle of the gardens, where the water which would naturally have collected in the marsh was piped up into a large basin. Here, and only here, Thranduil finally let go of Galion and began pacing round the feature, looking into the waters with an anxious expression on his face. The sun was climbing to noon, so Galion sat down on the basin's rim and checked through their food while watching his friend.

When Thranduil walked passed him for the third time, Galion gently touched his arm, "What ails you, gwador?"

Thranduil glared at him momentarily before his expression relapsed into one of quiet unquiet. "Nothing ails me, meldir."

"That is evidently a lie," Galion replied, trying to keep his tone light, "You lashed out earlier and you're agitated now."

Thranduil bit his lower lip and began wandering up and down in front of Galion, "I'm not permitted to tell you."

Suddenly something clicked inside Galion's head and his eyes went wide, "This is to do with what you were saying last night, isn't it?"

"That was nothing," Thranduil said, slightly too quickly, "nothing to do with this."

Galion raised an eyebrow. "You can tell me anything, you know that."

"But not this!" Thranduil insisted, stepping forwards and stopping just in front of his friend. He looked at Galion, then around him and rang his hands. "I can't tell you. Please, don't force me."

"I'm not going to force you," Galion reassured him.

"I don't want them to kill you."

"No," Galion said, taking Thranduil's hand in his and kissing his signet ring, "I don't want them to kill me either."

oOo

Dusk was looming when they finally returned, food, anxiety and a bottle of wine gone. Both of them were laughing at an in-joke when they passed through the palace's enchanted doors. They were laughing so hard that Mithras thought twice about interrupting, but his news was important.

"The five Dwarves left just under an hour ago, sire," he said. Thranduil blinked at him,

"They didn't stay the night?"

"No, Sire."

"How bizarre," Thranduil mused, turning his head to Galion who shrugged, "ah well, I could say I'll miss them but that would be a lie. Hannon le, Mithras."

Galion bid his friend good night at the far end of the corridor, where they also found Lianna and Legolas. This meeting caused the two fathers much mirth – they had spent a good deal of the afternoon matchmaking their children. Legolas and Lianna looked at each other in confusion and gave their fathers a wide berth. While Legolas went to the bathroom to wash away the smell of Dwarf, Lianna tailed her king and hailed him.

"Do you want a report of the day's events, seeing as you weren't available?"

Thranduil turned to face her, concerned, "Much happened then, I take it?"

Lianna looked serious for a few more seconds but then couldn't help smiling, "No, not really. The Dwarves were no trouble, though my word they asked a lot of questions."

Thranduil's merry mood left like a shot and he asked something so quickly that Lianna had to ask him to repeat it: "Did you tell them what they asked about?"

"In some cases," Lianna replied, her tone getting defensive as she sensed the king's temper fray, "though not all. Some things were none of their business."

Thranduil sensed that if he didn't act quickly he would do something he'd regret, so he thanked her stiffly and retreated into his study. Nenros still wasn't back so he moved to his bedchamber and out onto its balcony. In his mind's eye he imagined all the questions the Dwarves could have asked and all the answers his Elves could have given them. Dwarves were nothing if not crafty so they could have gleaned much information without seeming to do so. The king banged the stone balustrade with his fist and quickly wished he hadn't. To avoid further injury he forced himself to think about something else.

The night was still again, a perfect time for thinking. Thranduil did most of his thinking now, when the palace was calming down to the quieter hum of night time activity. Sometimes he wished he could just be active at night, but he suspected that would cause some consternation among the court, what with him being king and all. How he hated his position sometimes.

With that he drifted into thoughts about courtly matters, and slowly became deaf to the outside world. Though as the shadows closed around him he got the unshakable feeling that he was being watched. He refocused his eyes and turned around.

And found himself ringed round by Noldor in dark cloaks which blended into the night. His eyes widened and his mouth hung slightly open. His breath caught in his throat so all he could manage was: "Eru!"

"He shan't help you," one of the figures said, stepping forward to reveal the standard black hair spilling out from inside their hood, "and your little contact won't come to get you out of this, either. He has abandoned you like he's abandoned everyone he's ever met. How can the damned help those with souls?"

"He's not damned!"

"What do you know of his past?" The figure stopped and regarded the shaking Sinda with a cocked head. "Do you know why we're here?"

"Yes," Thranduil whispered.

"Well then," the figure extended its palm. Thranduil looked at it, scared stiff. The figure grew impatient, "Come on, Sinda! Hurry up!"

Thranduil looked into the shadows of the Noldo's hood, "I don't have it."

The other Noldor hissed. "Don't have it?" The speaker repeated, "Liar! We know you're lying."

"Look above your heads," Thranduil pleaded, suddenly able to move again and doubling up on himself, "it's there! It's been there for millennia. I don't know how to get it!"

The Noldor looked at the star, then back to the Sinda. "In that case," their spokesperson said, icily, "you are of no further use to us."

The whisper of unsheathed metal came from all angles.

"Please," Thranduil whispered, falling to the floor, "have mercy."

"You are one Elf. One more Elf's blood on our hands won't make much difference to us."

Thranduil closed his eyes and the world began to spin. But nothing happened. He opened his eyes again and saw the Noldo standing over him, sword poised but not dropping. They were all staring at the same point behind Thranduil's head.

Thranduil dared to turn and just as he did so a dark figure sprang from just higher up the hill onto the balcony and cut down the Noldo nearest him. His hair, heavy with grease and dirt, slapped against his face, which itself was an unnatural brown from decades of grit. But his eyes were as clear and bright as ever and, as his first opponent fell behind him, he paced along the balcony until he stood between Thranduil and his assailant.

"Leave him alone," he hissed, "he knows nothing of this."

The Noldo smirked: "Make me."

"Stay down," Nenros whispered to Thranduil, who was more than willing to comply. He watched in amazement as Nenros raised his sword high above his head and brought it down onto the other faster than sight. But the stranger dived and Nenros' blade cut through nothing but air. Then the others were on him, but Nenros was more than a match for them. He twisted and span, mostly in mid-air, drawing a dagger from his belt and attacking them with both blades. Thranduil watched as though it were in slow motion. He himself was forgotten. Nenros was panting as he deflected blow after blow, holding one blade up to protect himself and wielding the other here, there and everywhere. Switching over in a split second when he was attacked from the other side. Slowly he drove the Noldor back into a corner of the balcony and held them there, teeth bared, breath condensing in the cold late evening air.

"You will leave now," he ordered them, "and you shall not come back. Not for this Elf, or for any others who call this place home. Is that understood?"

"We will leave now," their speaker hissed, "though that's all we promise."

"Then get you gone!" Nenros hissed. The Noldor flipped over the balustrade onto the slopes below and skittered away into the trees.

When he was content that they really were gone, Nenros sheathed his blades and helped a dazed Thranduil to his feet. "I was afraid they'd try that. I left to try to prove or disprove it but now I realise I should have stayed. Are you alright?"

Thranduil shook his head, "I'm fine. But you, you were amazing."

Nenros flicked his hair out of his eyes. "Come inside," he said as though he hadn't heard Thranduil's comment. Thranduil allowed himself to be led into the office and Nenros closed the doors behind them.

"I should have done something," Thranduil insisted.

"There was nothing you could have done," Nenros replied, "they are highly trained in a specific type of fighting only taught in Aman. You can only beat them if you also know that technique; they would have killed you."

"Thank you," Thranduil whispered, his voice thick with gratitude.

Nenros smiled, "I was lucky; had you not drawn them onto the balcony I wouldn't have been able to hem them in like that and they may well have overpowered me."

"Why did you let them go after killing one of them?"

"I know of nothing that could save or damn my soul. I don't know if I could argue away the killing of one Elf as self-defence or if I'm damned now, but either way it's better to act as though we are not damned to hell, is it not?"

"Of course, you are right," Thranduil replied, "Forgive me; I was afraid."

Nenros placed a hand on his shoulder, "There is nothing to forgive, meldir.

"Now," he continued in a different tone, letting go of the king and walking over to the fireplace, "what of these Dwarves? How went things with them?"

Thranduil sighed, "I know not for certain, though it seems they asked many questions."

Nenros' eyes widened, "You do know why that is, don't you?"

"Mae," Thranduil replied quietly.

"And now, they are where?"

"In the forest."

Nenros remained motionless for a few seconds, before yelling and striking the mantelpiece with both hands. The clutter on it jumped and an ink bottle fell down to smash in the grate. The dark ink looked like blood pooling over the tiles. "How could you be so foolish?" He demanded, "Where do you think they've gone?"

Thranduil shook his head. Nenros moved in front of him and looked straight into his eyes. Neither moved until Thranduil put two and two together and yelped, "They've gone to tell the Noldor everything!"

"We have to act fast," Nenros said, spinning round and pacing up and down, knocking over precariously balanced piles of paper as he did so, "the Dwarves must be made to forget everything."

"I shall do this deed," Thranduil announced. Nenros turned to him. "Yes," the king insisted, his gaze hardening, "you saved me from the Noldor just now, it is only fair that I save us from the Dwarves."

"What do you plan to do to them?" Nenros knew Thranduil was one of the few people still alive who had two options in this matter.

"Silence them," Thranduil stated apathetically. He made for the door and crossed the corridor to his chamber, where he pulled off his robes and donned a hooded cloak over his hoes and tunic. He took a key from his belt and unlocked a chest at the back of the room. He pulled out first his quiver and then his arrows, their fletching black for operations that he didn't want traced back to him, "they'll never know it was me."

"You could just enchant them," Nenros pointed out, watching with growing concern as Thranduil reached in a third time and took out his hunting bow. The Sinda caressed its smooth limbs for a moment before taking its string from a pocket in the chest's lining. "Make them forget these past few days," Nenros added, more quietly.

"No," Thranduil, "that wouldn't assure anything. I have to kill them." He twisted and looked up into Nenros' worried eyes, "it's the only way." He rose and slung his quiver across his back.

"I wouldn't recommend it though," Nenros persisted, "If I were you I'd just enchant them. That way nobody gets hurt."

"Well you aren't me! I'm tired of taking soft options." Thranduil snapped, stringing his bow and leaving the room. Nenros looked at the chest for a moment longer before hurrying after him.

"Thranduil, stop! You are making a mistake!" He called. But Thranduil ignored him.

They met with no opposition as they swept through the palace and, despite Nenros dancing in front of him trying to make him reconsider, Thranduil was soon at the main doors.

"Thranduil," Nenros pleaded, throwing himself against the heavy doors, "please don't do this. This is a grave thing that you go to do."

"Get out of my way," Thranduil hissed, "or are you in fact one of them sent to distract me?"

"No," Nenros whispered, "I am on your side. Always have been. Always will be."

"Then let me pass."

Nenros swallowed several times but stepped aside. The doors opened silently for their king and Thranduil stepped out into the night.

The Dwarves knew little of their attacker. Until it was too late. They were dressed for trading and not in their supple yet unbreakable mail. They didn't hear the tell-tale cracks of twigs behind them, the rustle of leaves as the Elf left the forest floor for the trees, the creak of a bent bow.

But they heard the whistle of the arrow as it sped through the air into the chest of the hindmost Dwarf. He made a small gasping sound and looked down at the shaft sticking out from his blue cloak. He tried to call for help but the arrowhead had pierced his lung. As he looked into the tree as his vision swam and he fancied he saw a figure of gold and black crouching in a branch, aiming a second arrow between his eyes.

The others only turned when he hit the floor. Blood running slowly from his chest, forehead and mouth.

Panic hit them like a wave. They though the arrow was orcish so, as they drew their swords and axes and backed into a ring, none of them thought to look up. The second Dwarf fell with just one arrow to his head.

"Why are we being attacked?" One Dwarf exclaimed, "we're on the path; the Elves said we'd be safe on the path!"

"We should run," a second said to the others.

"And leave our friends? Never." The third took his axe in both hands and stood over one of his fallen companions. "Come out!" He called into the darkness, "Show yourself, you coward! We will take you down!"

This time, a spinning dagger lodged itself between his ribs and he too fell. The two survivors exchanged frightened glances and finally looked up. With a shriek, Thranduil launched himself from his branch and took the Dwarf below him out. The final one was harder; they were on the same level and both in plain view. The Dwarf made the first swing, showing Thranduil that he was indeed an evildoer. Had he been innocent in this he would have been diplomatic.

Though the meeting was violent, it was short lived. The Dwarf, stunned at who he was fighting, fumbled his attacks and the king was on his home ground, still had the advantage. And apart from a knock to the head Thranduil came away unhurt. Though as the Dwarf crumpled on his sword, Thranduil felt his head spinning. He turned on the spot, trying to get a reference point so he didn't fall. He could hear the sound of hooves on the path, coming closer. He wondered if that was more Dwarves, perhaps they had heard sounds of the battle and had come to help their comrades. Let them come. Let them all come!

The mounted figure which came into view a few moments later was worse than any Dwarf though. His raven dark hair blended into the night as he pulled his horse up and dismounted. His grey eyes surveyed the scene in disbelief. Then he took a step towards the swooning Sinda.

Thranduil clumsily raised his sword. "Get away from me!" He ordered, before his arm lost its strength and he dropped his sword at his side.

Palandir slowly shook his head as he absorbed the scene, but then lunged forward to catch Thranduil as the blow to his head finally rendered him unconscious. He held the Sinda against his chest and whispered, "What have you done?"

oOo

Thranduil awoke to find himself propped up in bed with a throbbing headache. It took him a while to remember what had happened, but when he did some of his previous anxiety returned. He wasn't pleased with what he'd done but it had been necessary. Who knew how potent the Noldor would have been with information as detailed as that? Dazed blue eyes darted round the familiar surroundings, and he saw that someone had packed his weapons away in his chest. He wondered if anyone had got the dagger out of the Dwarf's ribcage. He hoped someone had; he liked his knives.

His gaze settled on Nenros, who was leaning on the dresser again, this time looking sheepish. Thranduil smiled, "I am not as skilled a fighter as you are, meldir."

Nenros tried to smile back but failed and an invisible hand clenched around the Sinda's throat. "Everything's alright, isn't it?"

Nenros nodded, crow's feet appearing round his ancient eyes. In his dazed state, Thranduil didn't notice that they were forced. "Yes, everything's fine. Unless you happen to be Dwarf, that is."

"Have you seen the Noldor since?"

"No, but they are still here, licking their wounds. We have some time."

The door opened and both Elves watched the newcomer enter. Nenros smiled at Palandir and hailed him with 'mae govannen', but Palandir walked straight past him. Nenros looked at Palandir's back, indignantly, "Or ignore me, either way."

Palandir saved his smiles for Thranduil, who returned his gaze when Nenros huffed in annoyance and pretended not to care about being overlooked. The Sinda's eyes remained puzzled on his friend's behalf.

"I knew this would happen," Palandir said, jovially as he settled himself at the foot of Thranduil's bed, "you waking up in the ten minutes that I left you."

"You're on their side aren't you?"

Palandir blinked, "Whose side?"

"Theirs! They're trying to kill me, kill everyone, for a jewel, just like before."

"Thranduil, why on earth would I want to kill you? And I'm not after any jewel."

"Well you would say that!"

Palandir held up is hands, "Thranduil, it's me; Palandir. We've known each other since the First Age." He smiled, "I mean you no harm."

Thranduil's manic expression faltered and he hung his head. "I'm sorry."

"'Tis nothing. Shall we start again?"

Thranduil looked up once more, acting as though nothing had just happened. He looked about him again and his brow furrowed. "Where's Galion?" he demanded.

"It's good to see you too," Palandir teased. "And I'm sure Galion will be flattered by your assumption that he'd be here. I sent him off on an errand about an hour ago. You've left us rather a situation to sort out after all." Thranduil said nothing but regarded Palandir critically. Palandir was unfazed, "I'm sorry you woke up on your own."

"What are you talking about?"

"Well," Palandir replied, refusing to be taken aback, "there was no one here when you came round."

Thranduil shook his head in disbelief, "Meldir, ignore him if you wish but do not deny his being here at all?"

Palandir's brow creased, "Who's this?" He followed Thranduil's gaze and stared straight at Nenros, who wiggled his fingers. But when he turned back to Thranduil Palandir's frown hadn't gone. "Thranduil… meldir, there's no one there."

"But there is!" Thranduil insisted. He looked to the other, "Tell him, Nenros."

"Nenros?" Palandir repeated, unable to keep the concern out of his voice. "You think Nenros is here?"

"I don't think," Thranduil stressed, highly frustrated now, "I _know! _He's standing just behind you, leaning on the dresser." Nenros looked at him from under his eyelids. He was chewing his lip again and looked as confused as the king did. Thranduil blinked at him, panic rising in his chest. He sat up straighter and pointed to the other Noldo, "He's there! Right there! How can you not see him?"

Palandir glanced behind him again before shuffling closer and taking the Sinda's hands. "My dear Thranduil," he said gently, his voice strange, "Nenros has been dead for almost 6,000 years."


	3. Chapter 3

"Is he awake yet?" Legolas asked as Palandir entered the sitting room. When Palandir nodded, Legolas made to go and see him but Palandir caught his arm and gave him a warning look. Lianna, who had been working out where the Dwarves were likely to be using a map and an abacus, looked up,

"What's wrong?"

"It's… best if you don't visit him just yet."

Legolas looked aghast and yanked himself free of Palandir's grasp, "He is my father; why on earth should I not go and see him?"

"He's in a bad way," Palandir said, slowly, "in here." He tapped his head. Lianna got up and placed a hand on Legolas's shoulder and both listened to Palandir intently. "He's been hallucinating. And when I told him that what he was seeing wasn't real he couldn't take it. I tried to comfort him but he kept pushing me away and accusing me of all sorts. He wouldn't stop screaming until Galion returned – he's with him now. We'll take him to the healers when he's calmed down enough."

"This has happened before," Legolas said, quietly, "though not for a long time." Palandir pursed his lips and nodded. "And he's always got better before," Legolas continued.

"Let us hope that is again the case."

oOo

"You are real, aren't you?" Thranduil whispered.

Galion, sitting next to him with his arms round him, nodded, "Yes, gwador, I'm real." He was crying. Thranduil wasn't, he was staring blankly into the distance with terrified eyes.

"And Palandir and Legolas and Lianna? You see them too?"

"Yes, I see them."

"And Mithras and Eruwest and-"

Galion kissed his forehead, "We are all real, meldir. All of us are, apart from Nenros."

"And the Noldor and their conspiracy? Are they really trying to kill us?"

"No," Galion stroked the hair away from Thranduil's eyes, "no, they aren't real either." He made a note to mention them to Palandir.

"Am _I_ real?" Thranduil asked, his wide eyes looking up at Galion now. He lifted a hand and gently traced the bark splint on his friend's nose. Galion smiled as best he could,

"Of course you are. You're as real as can be."

"Nenros was terrified of not being real," Thranduil murmured, "Whenever I asked if he wasn't you could see it in his eyes. He must be so scared."

Galion didn't know how to answer that, so he eased his friend's head into the hollow of his neck and rocked him gently. "Hush, don't think of him now."

This was how Palandir found them when he returned some time later. "How is he?" He asked, quietly.

"He's half asleep," Galion said, smiling through his tears.

Palandir nodded, "We should move him soon then. How are you?"

"Shaken," Galion said, truthfully, "I was with him all yesterday; why didn't I notice?"

Palandir shook his head and put a hand on Galion's shoulder, "No one is to blame for this. It's often hard to notice except for in certain circumstances."

"But I knew something was wrong!" Galion continued, "I asked him if he was alright. He said strange things but when I pressed him he snapped so I let it be. I should have made him tell me."

"That wouldn't have achieved anything. He would just have got as upset at you as he did at me. What you need to do now is not get yourself wound up about it. You're the only one we know that he trusts enough to take care of him."

"No pressure," Galion whispered, his smile surfacing again.

"Are you alright to do this?"

"I'll have to be," Galion sighed. "No, I'd do anything for him, and in my times of need he's always stayed with me no matter what. I want to help him."

Palandir nodded and stepped back, "Good. Wake him now and we'll move him while he's calm."

Thranduil was surprisingly easy to move. Galion gently shook him awake and told him what was going on. The king looked dazed though, and Palandir predicted that he'd have forgotten all this by noon – it was now early morning two days after the incident with the Dwarves. He looked at Galion with glazed eyes as the butler explained things to him, and followed obediently as he was led out of his room on his companions' arms. The palace was just waking up, but those whom the trio passed were sympathetic rather than judgemental. The phrase 'bad strike on the head' was bounded around between groups and Galion and Palandir were glad of the unexpected excuse for the king's current state.

The healers knew what was actually wrong with Thranduil, though, and had made preparations – mostly mental – for his arrival by the time the group reached their houses. Two came forward to take him off Palandir and Galion's hands but, though he allowed a healer to take Palandir's place, Thranduil refused to let go of Galion. When the healer tried to separate them with more force Thranduil mumbled his name, and his voice was so slurred that the healers decided to break protocol and let Galion remain, so long as he got out of the way if need be. Those who still looked like they might protest were stared down by the butler. Thranduil clung onto his friend like a limpet; even when placed in a bed he laced his fingers between Galion's and squeezed so tightly that Galion winced.

"Maybe it would be better if you left now," the Master Healer suggested. Thranduil's blurry eyes suddenly focused on the man, blue flames burning in them. He hated the master healer; he thought (unjustly) that he was dancing on Míriel's grave. The healer didn't fail to notice and, posed with two intimidating glares, he backed down, "Of course you don't have to but it would be easier if you… left for a few moments."

"Galion stays," Thranduil said, his tone icy despite his persisting slur.

The healer inclined his head: "Sire." He smoothed his tunic and hurried off. Thranduil watched him, still scowling.

Galion put his free hand over his and Thranduil's interlinked ones: "Worry not, gwador; I'm not leaving until you do."

As night fell, Galion moved to the bed next to Thranduil's and was asleep far quicker than his sovereign. Thranduil remained motionless for a long while as the darkness gathered around him. He could rest if he wanted to but his mind was finally clear again so he'd rather be using it than dreaming. It was dark in the healing houses, so not even his eyes could pierce the gloom, but there was some comfort in that. No distractions. And it meant he could see the lights dancing on the ceiling better. They looked like stars though they were much larger, and seemed to be chasing each other across the stonework. He smiled as he watched them, though the nagging feeling which had come when he returned to himself still hadn't left.

He pulled himself up further and reached for the candle by his bedside. When he'd found it, he fumbled around in the dark for the matches by it and, eventually finding the box, lit the candle. It showed what he had expected; Galion was the only Elf near him for a long way either side. This wasn't the main room of the healing houses and therefore was fairly empty. He leant towards Galion's sleeping form and whispered his name. No reply. So he whispered it louder and louder, as loud as he dared. Still nothing. He was lucky; Galion was in a deep sleep that night.

He climbed out of bed and crept over to him. Still Galion made no sign. His breathing was slow and deep as it is in sleep. Smiling in the dark, Thranduil bent down and reached for something under Galion's bed. He found it soon enough and his fingers closed round it in triumph. Then he took the candle and moved over to the other side of the room; the side without any beds where he could sit against the wall. He put his plan into action.

A short while later and he was trying to wake Galion up this time. He put the candle back on the table and nudged his butler with the back of his hand.

"Galion," he called, his voice reasonably low so as not to get the attention of anyone in another room. Galion muttered a little but remained asleep. So Thranduil shook him this time and that woke him up. He rolled onto his back and blinked up at his king, whom he could just see as a silhouette on the edge of the flame's light.

"Why are you up, meldir? And why is the candle lit?" He sat up, blinking rapidly as his eyes got used to the light.

"I need to ask you if something's real or not," Thranduil stated.

"Oh," Galion mumbled, "of… of course, meldir. What is it?"

Thranduil stepped into the candlelight and held up his wrists. Galion looked at them and his heart flew to his mouth.

"This is a dream," he said, "this must be one of those anxiety dreams; this cannot really be happening."

He looked up into Thranduil's face. The king's expression was serious, deadly serious. "Ai! This _is_ real, isn't it?"

"Can you see them?" Thranduil asked, flatly.

There was no doubt as to what 'they' were. Several neat cuts on each wrist, from which blood had run down to make webs over the backs of Thranduil's hands and dark red pools in his palms. Though Galion didn't know it yet there was a red hand print on his shirt from where Thranduil had shaken him awake. Galion made a choking sound in his throat as he stirred himself into action and swung his feet out of bed. "Yes," he managed, "of course I can see them!"

"It's alright," Thranduil said, reassuringly, as Galion stood up, wrapped his hands around his friend's wrists and brought them together above his head. Within seconds small rivulets were running down to his elbows. "You don't need to worry; I made them."

Galion stared at him, "You did this?" Thranduil smiled and nodded. "What is wrong with you? Can you not see that that just makes this worse!" With that he dragged Thranduil across the room, screaming for help at the top of his lungs. Healers came from every direction like ants and soon half a dozen were whisking their king away. Candles flared from the far end of the room and in the confusion Galion's hand slipped from round Thranduil's wrists. So amongst the raised voices of the healers was his screaming for him. But Galion didn't move. He couldn't. He stood where he had ben when he gave Thranduil into more capable hands, his own hands in front of him and tears slipping unnoticed down his cheeks. Thranduil's cries for him seemed to echo round the inside of his head, then they were muffled as a healer gave him a sedative, and then there was silence when they took effect. Somehow the silence was even worse.

Galion returned early the next morning. He couldn't bare staying, especially after one of the trainee healers had coughed politely and asked him if he wanted his knife back, and Galion had realised just how Thranduil had done what he did. He'd taken the knife and thrown it in the river. He never wanted to see it again.

Thranduil was slumped against the wall again, though there was no evidence of the night before on the floor. His knees were up under his chin and his chin was in the hand of the arm resting on his knee. The other was lying across his knees, dejectedly. The healers had taken everything metal off him; he was in a light robe, shirt and hoes. A pair of soft shoes lay some distance away where Thranduil had thrown them. Where his wide sleeves had fallen down, Galion could see the bandages now round his wrists and lower arms, slightly brown on the inside where the blood had seeped through. His sudden elation told him that he had been expecting something else had happened during his absence.

The king looked up as Galion approached and stretched out his arms. Galion came over, knelt down and embraced him.

"They've stolen my wedding ring."

"I'm sure they haven't stolen it, removed maybe-"

"And my necklace."

Galion's heart sank. The necklace in question was a moonstone pendant on a fine mithril chain. Míriel had given it to Thranduil many ages ago and the king always wore it; it meant the world to him. "I'm sure they haven't really," he reassured his friend, settled himself next to himand looked round the room for the jewellery. He quickly found them, "They're on the side, just over there. See?"

Thranduil acknowledged their location grudgingly. "They treat me like a glass doll."

"How so?"

"They're pathetic; they tiptoe around me without talking. They're too scared to ask me why I'm down here."

Galion smiled, "Alright then; why are you down here?"

"They can't control me from down here. They order you about if you're in bed, make you take things, keep poking and prodding you. Down here they ignore you."

"They're just trying to help," Galion said calmly.

"I hate them," Thranduil said and sniffed, "They're keeping me here against my will."

"Why don't you leave?" Galion asked, hoping Thranduil wouldn't.

"I've tried that. I tried it last night. When you abandoned me."

Galion blinked and hung his head.

"I was trying to find you. I told them that and they still wouldn't let me go."

"You were trying to find me?"

Thranduil nodded, glumly, "You promised you wouldn't leave until I did."

There was no accusation in his voice but Galion felt as though he'd been struck. "Yes, I did."

"You lied to me."

"I know. I'm sorry," Galion replied, tearfully, "but I'm back now, aren't I?"

"How should I know?" Thranduil snapped, "I might be imagining all this."

"Well you aren't," Galion whispered, "I can guarantee that you aren't."

Thranduil wiped his eyes and reverted to his original pose, except this time his head was bowed. Even so, Galion could tell he was crying; his shoulders trembled and his breathing was short and shallow.

"It'll be alright," Galion murmured, reaching out to touch his friend's arm. But this time Thranduil shook him off. Galion's hand stayed in mid-air for a while before he slowly lowered it back to his side.

A small cough alerted Galion to the fact that the same trainee healer who had returned his knife the previous night was standing a respectful distance away. Galion looked at him: "What?"

"His Highness and Lianna are here to see His Majesty, sir. I came to ask His Majesty if he wishes to see them."

"No!" Thranduil spoke as though the word was painful. Galion failed to hide his surprise,

"Meldir?"

"I said no!" Thranduil repeated with gasping breaths, "I don't want them to see me. Not like this. Tell them to go away."

Galion looked to the doors and saw a concerned Legolas and Lianna watching the exchange. They could hear every word.

"Thranduil, they come through worry for you. If you won't see Lianna at least let Legolas come; he is your son. He cares greatly for you."

"Yes, he is my son; no son should see their father like this."

"He shan't think any less of you, gwador. I think you should see them-"

"Don't tell me what I should and should not do!" Thranduil screamed, taking Galion and the healer aback. He glared at them through the crook of his elbow, but then recovered himself somewhat, "Make them leave." When the healer didn't move, he added, "That's an order!" The healer jerked, bowed and hurried down the room. Galion watched for a short while before getting up,

"Well if you won't see them then at least let me explain things to them."

Thranduil scowled at him for a while, then nodded. Galion just caught them and explained the situation as hurriedly as he could. Both understood, though Lianna was unsettled by the news. She gave the king a long, hard look,

"And what's happened to him? He's dissolved into a jibbering wreck. He's pathetic."

"He's sared!" Galion snapped at his daughter, "How do you think you would react if suddenly people and events you thought were real only existed in your head, hmm?"

Lianna's eyes flicked back to her father then down to the floor, "I wouldn't dare do anything for fear it was an illusion." Galion shot her a withering look. "I'm sorry," she continued, "I don't know why I spoke so harshly. I suppose I'm afraid too."

"Let Adar know," Legolas said, pretending to speak to Galion but talking loudly enough for Thranduil to hear, "that he has but to ask for me and I shall come running."

Galion smiled and put a hand on the prince's shoulder. "He knows. He will call for you, soon."

"I hope," Legolas replied and he and Lianna took their leave.

"I love them too much," Thranduil said when Galion settled next to him again, "to let them see me now. Do you understand?"

"I think so, though I wouldn't act thus myself," was Galion's honest reply.

Mithras put his head round the door a short while later but got no further. A few hours later, however, when Thranduil had calmed down somewhat, Eruwest fared a little better. She crouched down in front of the king with a smile.

"You might like to know that Palandir, Mithras and I have explained the Dwarves," she said. "We said they succumbed to the same thing their fellow did, but weren't so lucky. In fact that's how we're explaining your absence from office too."

"Do you know the real reason?" Thranduil asked the floor.

"Yes; Palandir told me."

"They think I'm seeing things, but I'm not," Thranduil told her anyway, "they're all lying or mistaken." He missed Galion's pained sigh but Eruwest didn't. Though she didn't look at him for Thranduil was looking at her now and she couldn't look away from his pained blue eyes. "You believe me, don't you? You believe I saw Nenros."

Eruwest touched her fellow Sinda's arm with the tips of her fingers. "I wish I could," she said, sincerely, "I wish to the Valar that he were still alive. But he isn't. I know he isn't. And I know you know too."

"He faked it," Thranduil told her, his eyes intense, "he faked his death."

"No," she whispered, voice thick with emotion, "no, my dear, he didn't. Please, Thranduil, trust me. Trust the one woman who loved him."

The last to visit during the day was Palandir, who went to the healers first before returning to Thranduil.

"How are we?"

Thranduil didn't answer so Palandir turned to Galion.

"He's been surly like that for most of the day," Galion told him.

Palandir nodded, "But you do know now what's real at what isn't? You do know that Nenros is no longer with us?"

"No, he isn't," was Thranduil's reply. Palandir grinned but then Thranduil continued, "he's off trying to stop this conspiracy all on his own because you're all keeping me here." Palandir's smile faltered and faded completely. "We're all going to die because of you."

"I know it's hard to accept," Palandir said, calmly, "that someone you saw so vividly wasn't really there but you have to accept it or you'll never get well again."

"I'm not sick."

"You are sick, gwador," Galion whispered, placing his hand on Thranduil's, "really quite badly sick."

Palandir hitched up one corner of his mouth before clapping his hands, "Right, and how are your wrists doing? May I have a look?"

Thranduil offered up an arm, watching his old friend closely. Where Galion saw rather matronly care, Thranduil saw patronisation and he hated it. But he let Palandir check his wounds all the same.

"Not bad!" Palandir said, happily. "Not bad at all, considering." He smiled then called to one of the healers to come and change the bandages. "We'll have you back on your feet in no time, penneth."

"I wish," Thranduil began, icily, then stopped.

"What do you wish, meldir?" Palandir asked, eyes sparkling.

"I wish Nenros was real," Thranduil said flatly, pausing for effect, "and that _you_ were imaginary."

Palandir was shocked into silence, and Galion almost was: "Gwador, you know not what you say!"

"I know exactly what I'm saying."

Palandir backed away and stood, blinking quickly. He made for the door and Galion found himself up and following him. When Thranduil called him he retorted, "You know what you've done? You've made him cry. He was helping you through his love for you and you've made him cry! You don't deserve friends like him, you really don't!"

"Galion!" Thranduil screamed but Galion had disappeared to comfort Palandir. Thranduil didn't call again but watched the door for a long time. He didn't notice when a healer came to change his bandages.

When it became apparent that Galion wasn't coming back any time soon, Thranduil curled up on the floor and wept. Several healers came to aid him but he didn't even hear their questions to him. Unable to get a response, and deeming that the king was in no actual danger, they left him to sort himself out.

But presently he did notice that someone was there. He uncurled himself and sat up. The sunset flowed in through the windows with a brilliant red and made the whole room glow in strange colours.

And there was Nenros, watching him with concern etched in his face. Thranduil had no sympathy for him: "You've ruined my life."

"I know," Nenros said, apologetically, "but please, you have to help me."

"Why should I help you? You don't exist!"

"Sire?" A nearby healer looked anxiously at the king, then down the room and back to the king again. "Your Majesty, are you alright?"

Thranduil didn't hear her; he was too busy staring at Nenros. Nenros was visibly afraid now; "They've blinded you, I see." He rushed closer and took Thranduil's hand in his. His skin was cold and clammy with fear, "They're manipulating you into thinking things that fit in with their view of the world. Please, you have to help me; they've found me."

"I don't care!"

"You're my only hope."

"I said I don't care!"

Three healers were moving closer now, though Thranduil's utter obliviousness to them somehow prevented them from actually intervening.

"They'll kill me!" Nenros said, eyes emploring.

Thranduil regarded him with utter loathing, "I'm imprisoned here because of you. I could lose my position because of you. Why should I help you?"

"You believe them, don't you?" Nenros whispered. Then, desperation, he tried a different technique, "Look, if I and the Noldor don't exist then you'll be putting yourself in no danger. But if we do and you do nothing then I shall be dead and you'll have no defence against them. _Please!_"

There was a short pause which seemed to last for ever, then Thranduil spoke: "Get out of my sight."

Nenros watched him for a moment, then let his hands drop and backed away, "They're waiting in the lower halls for me. I shall never see the forest again. By staying here you make my death your doing."

Thranduil made no sign, so he turned and left, slamming the door behind him.

The Sinda didn't move for a long while, debating whether or not he should go and see what was happening in the lower halls. He swung from one extreme to the other, though one question quickly rose to the surface: what if he is real and he does die because of me?

It was that question that saw him padding barefoot along the lower corridors a short while later.

As he approached the main stairs down the reception halls, he heard voices mocking him.

"Come out, Sinda! Come and save your friend before he gets it in the neck. Literally."

He reached the balustrade and looked down at the scene below. Nenros had been pushed to the floor and was kneeling there, hands tied behind his back and blade at his neck. He was looking desperately at Thranduil now. The Noldo who held him there looked at the Sinda with glee.

"Finally, he appears. Sense got through to him at last."

"What do I have to do to set Nenros free?" Thranduil asked, coming down the stairs and stopping half way down.

"You know what all this is about, penneth. Give us the contraption you've made to get the Silmaril, or even the plans if they're all you have."

"I have no such thing," Thranduil insisted. In answer, the Noldo drew his blade slightly against the taught skin of Nenros' neck. Blood beaded along the cut. The Noldo feigned surprise,

"And I wasn't even applying pressure! Imagine what damage I could do if I really tried."

Nenros whimpered and the Noldo yanked his hair back, "Hold your tongue, traitor."

"I don't have anything; it's impossible!" Thranduil exclaimed, "You can check my rooms if you wish."

The Noldor took him up on the offer, pushing past him and up the stairs like dark ghosts on a breeze. Only Thranduil, Nenros and his Noldo captor remained in the hall. "You, Sinda; you stay here," the Noldo ordered, "I'm not having you playing a merry dance with us and moving the plans about all over the place. My fellows shall turn this place upside down; we will find it."

"And what if there's nothing to find? Will you let Nenros go?"

The Noldo closed one eye and regarded the Sinda, but so convinced was he that he agreed, "But if we do find it, we have our way with both of you."

"That's not fair!" Thranduil exclaimed, suddenly afraid that they may find it after all.

"Oh," the Noldo said, toying with the two Elves, "would you rather it were the other way round?"

Thranduil bit his lip and shook his head. The Noldo laughed and closed his arm around Nenros' chest. The traveller chocked, "I can't breathe! Thranduil, I can't breathe!"

Thranduil moved forwards to help but as he did so he felt a cold, strong arm close about him and he was lifted off his feet. A second hand came over his mouth when he tried to call out. He arched his back and looked up at his captor, and though his hoodwas up Thranduil caught a glint of auburn hair. He made a noise of surprise and fear and doubled his efforts to get away.

"Try harder," the redhead jeered, easily holding the Sinda still. Thranduil twisted and struggled so the Noldo tipped him sideways so he could get no purchase on the floor. "How can this be imagined?" His captor asked, "For if I wasn't holding you you'd be floating in the air."

"Enough," their leader drawled, "I'm getting tired of waiting." To Thranduil's surprise he let Nenros go, but Nenros didn't move. Instead he just stared straight ahead. Straight at the Sinda. "Kneel." Nenros knelt and swallowed, distorting the mark on his neck.

Thranduil bit the hand covering his mouth until the Noldo was forced to remove it: "Leave him alone! You promised!"

"Why do you care about him?" The Noldo asked, genuinely curious, "he has no race. He belongs to no one."

"How can you say that?"

"Easily; he disowned the Noldor, didn't you, traitor?" He kicked Nenros in the back but Nenros made no sign. But his eyes were sad. "Do you know why, Sinda? He did that because your precious king promised to make him Sinda, but as so often happened Thingol turned his back on his promises, so then our dear Nenros was left with nothing." He put both hands in his sword hilt, rested the point where Nenros' left shoulder net his neck and then raised the weapon high above his head. There he stopped, and made silent tears run, unbidden, down Nenros' steeled face with a handful of carefully chosen words: "No people. No home. Did you never wonder, when you first met him, how he'd managed to fall so far?"

Thranduil looked duley horrified for a few seconds, then his shock disappeared: "I know all this already," he realised, "Nenros told me, many years ago." He looked round the scene, "And this is familiar. I've been imagining it since the Second Age." He looked straight into the Noldo's eyes, "None of this is new... and therefore none of this is true!"

The Noldo's face was thunder. He dodged round Nenros and ran at the Sinda, screaming and cursing. But before he could make contact the searchers returned, forcing the attacker to halt. The searchers had returned empty handed. A brief, rough discussion ensued in Quenya before the leader turned back to Thranduil.

"Here," he said, "have your rat." With that he pulled Nenros to his feet and practically threw him at the Sinda. "Take him and be thankful you've tricked us this time, but we shall return. And you shan't be so lucky."

When Thranduil's captor dropped him on the floor, he rushed down the remaining stairs as Nenros rushed towards him. As he took Nenros in his arms the Noldo disappeared.

"I thought you weren't coming!" Nenros wept, "I thought you'd forsaken me."

"No," Thranduil replied, "never." He let go of the older Elf and the two regarded each other, "Though now you must leave, for both our sakes."

But Nenros looked at him and shook his head. "Why would I be leaving? True we have overcome the Noldor this time but they shall be back."

"No," Thranduil insisted, "I've done what you wanted me to; now you must leave!"

"You have no power over me."

Thranduil tried to push him but Nenros refused to move, so he stopped and threw his hands in the air, "Leave me alone! Stop this, you aren't real!"

Nenros' eyes flashed, "What do you mean? Of course I'm real; you just fought me, you just saved me!"

"None of this is real!" Thranduil shouted, then turned and ran up the stairs. Nenros ran after him.

"They've closed your mind; I knew they would. Thranduil, you have to see beyond the obvious; you have to see what they are too scared to!"

Thranduil burst into his son's room: "Where is Palandir?"

Legolas, rudely aroused from slumber, rolled over and asked his father to repeat the question.

"Palandir; where is he?"

"I don't know, haven't seen him all day."

Thranduil clambered onto the bed and, grabbing his son's collar, pulled Legolas towards him. Suddenly Legolas was very afraid.

"Don't lie to me!" A panicking king demanded.

"Thranduil," Nenros pleaded from the doorway, "don't do this!"

Thranduil twisted round towards the doorway and screamed: "Shut up!" Then he shook his son.

"I'm sorry, adar, I'd tell you if I knew!" Legolas stammered, looking up at his father with terrified eyes, "Have you tried the living room? He's often there at this time."

Thranduil was gone as quickly as he'd arrived, running down the corridor with Nenros beside him, shouting at him to reconsider. "Why do you run to him? He'll blind you; he stop you thinking properly! He is the delusional one! He's the one who needs help!" When Thranduil didn't stop he jumped at him and tackled him to the floor. Thranduil writhed beneath him and threw him off. Nenros flew backwards and cracked his head on the tiles. He moaned as he raised his head and, putting his fingers to his lip, found it badly split. Stumbling to his feet Thranduil slammed into the living room door and stayed there, one hand resting on the handle.

"Go through that door," Nenros said, panting, "and you are doomed."

"No," Thranduil whispered, "I go through this door, and _you _are."

Legolas was thankfully right; Palandir was slouching in a chair by the fire and Galion was standing up a short distance away. The former looked up when Thranduil swept in but the former didn't. Thranduil in turn ignored Galion and rushed to kneel before Palandir. Palandir had a finger resting on his lips and it gave him an air of disdain as he looked down at the Sinda.

"I've done all he asked of me but he's not leaving me alone," Thranduil whispered, frantically. Looking beyond Palandir, he could see the door and the irked, afraid traveller leaning on the doorframe. "He's here right now. I'm scared, Palandir, I can't make him leave."

"Not so fond of him now as you were a few hours ago," Palandir replied, icily, his old selfishness resurfacing.

"I was wrong before," Thranduil pleaded, "I was stupid. I didn't think. He's using me. I can't make him go! Help me!"

"What about Galion?"

Thranduil turned to his gwador and reached out to him.

"I can't do it on my own," Galion said, staying where he was but smiling at the Sinda. "No matter how much I want to I can't care for him by myself."

Thranduil turned back to Palandir, "I'll have to go back to the healers. Please, don't make me go there! Don't make me go there."

"Have you tried ignoring him?"

"Yes! He's too real, I can't do it," Thranduil said. He raised a trembling hand to his face and wiped his eyes, "Palandir, I'm sick. I need people to tell me what's real and what isn't; people I can trust. There aren't many of them, not many at all. But Galion's one of them, and you're another." He spread out his arms and looked pleadingly into his eyes. Their ancient, private way of seeking forgiveness.

Thranduil's words, coupled with the exceedingly rare scene of him begging, softened Palandir's heart. And when the king brought a poignant past into the room, all pride he had dissolved.

"You are forgiven, meldir," he said, standing and pulling Thranduil to his feet before hugging him tightly, "completely and utterly forgiven."

Thranduil hugged him back and looked over his friend's shoulder at Nenros, who now wore a tortured expression on his face.

"You are a fool!" Nenros shouted, "They Noldor will come back and you shall have no defence against them! You've flown to the wrong person, you idiot Sinda!"

"He's insulting me," Thranduil whispered.

Palandir put a hand on the back of Thranduil's head, "Pay him no heed, penneth. Pay him no heed at all."

But Thranduil couldn't. He couldn't ignore the accusation in those ancient grey eyes, "You don't dare think this isn't real, do you? Because if it isn't then what did those five Dwarves die for?"

"You made me do it!" Thranduil screamed at him, ignoring Palandir's rocking and hushing, and Galion's hand on his back. "It was you! You told me, you tricked me!"

"I tried to talk you out of it!"

Thranduil stopped, wide eyed, "Yes. Yes you did." Then he wailed and collapsed against Palandir's chest, "Oh god, oh, Eru; I'm a murderer! I murdered them!"

Palandir held the crumpled Sinda at arm's length and shook him: "Stop this! Stop this now! You were sick. You still are. And you're making yourself worse!" But nothing either of them could say to him made any difference, so they had to sit it out. This was just one occasion of many where they had to sit him out.

Palandir stayed for the next few months while Thranduil struggled to ignore Nenros, who had the real Elf's determination when it came to getting his way. The longer Thranduil ignored him, the more persistent Nenros became, and for the first few weeks Palandir removed Thranduil from office because the king had so many shouting matches with his invisible antagonist and was generally in no fit state to do anything.

"I know it's much harder and more painful to ignore him than not," Palandir said after one particularly traumatic argument, when Thranduil was sitting on his chaise-long, head between his knees and Galion was sat beside him stopping him digging his nails into his scalp, "but it will get easier very soon, I promise. And you'll get back to yourself only when he holds no sway over you."

"What purpose does he serve?" Galion asked, suddenly. Thranduil looked up at him, confusion in his eyes. "Well for you to see him in particular there must be a reason."

Thranduil swallowed. "There was a time," he admitted, "when I was very young. My father asked him to swear that he would look after me if there was a time that he couldn't any more. I... first saw Nenros again outside the gates of Mordor. I... he looked after me when my father could not."

Galion swept forward, knelt before his friend and took Thranduil's hands in his. "But don't you see? That's what I'm doing, meldir. You don't need Nenros, not anymore. You have me to fall back on."

Palandir tossed his hair behind his shoulders, folded his arms and snorted: "You really think such a sentimental thing has any bearing on something as serious and complex as this?" But his retort fell on deaf ears as Thranduil smiled properly for the first time in a long time.

However Palandir was right when he'd said that the key was Thranduil shaking off Nenros' hold on him, though it was a far slower process than he'd imagined. Eventually, Thranduil began taking back his duties a little at a time, starting with the ones he preferred and those which were least stressful. Apart from a relapse when the Dwarves returned, earning the Dwarves a quiet hatred among those who knew what truly ailed the king, Thranduil succeeded in ignoring Nenros, even when – much later –he went down to the lower halls on his own. He saw Nenros from afar most days, watching him with an expression varying from sorrow to fury, but Nenros hardly ever spoke to him anymore. Though when Thranduil walked down the main stairs alone for the first time in months, Nenros accosted him.

"You can't ignore me forever!" He stated, "And when you're ready to see the truth again I'll be here."

"You are a lie," Thranduil stated, earning him confused glances from the Elves in earshot.

"I am no lie," Nenros retaliated, though as Thranduil walked past him he made no move to stop him, "I'm trying to help you but you're too weak to see that, or too scared. No matter! As I said, I'll be here waiting for you when you see reason!"

Thranduil kept walking, and after that it was far easier to ignore the Noldo, though the king still saw him in crowds or at the far end of deserted corridors. Nenros usually smiled now, though when Thranduil continued to ignore him his smile soured. As time passed, Thranduil stopped noticing him and presently he disappeared altogether. The final test came when Palandir returned to Lórien, though even then Nenros didn't reappear.

Galion beamed, swelling with pride, as he helped Thranduil dress for his first council meeting in almost half a year. His old gwador was back as he fussed over his hair and laughed at Galion's witty comments. When Galion placed Thranduil's crown on his head he felt as though he were crowning his king all over again.

"How do I look?" Thranduil asked, regarding his reflection with a critical eye.

"Beautiful," Galion replied as he smoothed down the shoulders of the king's outer robe, "simply beautiful."

"I just hope Legolas and Eruwest have filled me in well enough this past week for me not to be bombarded with new information," Thranduil said, half jokily, half genuinely fearful, as he turned to face Galion.

"Well, if you _do _start to feel strange again," Galion said as he handed Thranduil his staff, "sod convention and just get out of there."

Thranduil laughed as he took his staff and made for the door, "I am sure it will be fine, though I shall follow your advice if needs be." At the door he turned to Galion and smiled quietly, "Wish me luck."

"Good luck," Galion said, his expression mirroring Thranduil's. He stepped out into the corridor after Thranduil and watched him make his way to the stairs and be joined by Legolas half way down.

The smile never left his face, though he knew deep down that it was only a matter of time before the past few months happened all over again.

_I meth_


End file.
